I got a little chuckle the other night when I opened a package of bacon to cook up for a potato topping, and I saw the label:
"0 grams carbs!"
I thought to myself, "Bacon, really, now. Carbs are the least of your problems!" But then again, I thought to myself, "But good for you, bacon, focusing on the positive. So you're loaded with fat and basically zero nutritional value. At least you don't have carbs, right? So work it, bacon, work it."
I will never be taller than 5'4. I'll probably never be a size 2 again. I'll always have freckles, and never be satisfied with my nose. I'll wish I was better at this, or better at that. I'll wish I could have the beauty of so-and-so, or the brains of so-and-so. I'll wish I could cook like her, or dance like her, or sew like her, or understand everything like her.
But, you don't see bacon shouting out that it's loaded with the worst kind of fat ever, do you? Or sodium nitrite? Or that it comes from an animal that eats what no one else wants, and rolls in mud, now do you?
No, it proudly boasts that it has zero grams net carbs. You go, piggy.
And so, I will resolve to be more like bacon. I will proudly declare that I can bake a great cake. I make great soft pretzels, and my red sauce is to die for. I have eyes that dazzle turquoise when the sun hits them just right, and I have a decent alto voice. I can express myself fairly well and am confident speaking in front of others. I like my skin, and I like the way I see the world. I think I'm a great mother, and I'm determined, forgiving, and kind. I like that about me.
And you dared to argue that bacon was a blessing to the world? I told you so.